


That Which the Force Allows

by Shadaras



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Force Visions, Getting Together, M/M, Philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/pseuds/Shadaras
Summary: It's been five years since Qui-Gon was Knighted, and five years since he's last seen his old master, Dooku. Now, when the Jedi Council sends them to chase a dream (a prophecy?) they meet again, and the Force shows them what they need to know—both about what's coming for the Republic, and about themselves.





	That Which the Force Allows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurae/gifts).



> This fic brought to you by my love of em-dashes, my fascination with Force prophecies, and learning what comics say Dooku looked like as a young man.

Qui-Gon roused himself from meditation at the familiar, if far-away, sensation of another Jedi. He had been dropped off in the middle of a fairly empty field on Lothal with the very vague instructions of “Wait until your partner arrives.” As he’d been given only a day-pack, without even a tent, he assumed he wouldn’t need to wait long, but the sun said he’d been meditating at least half the day; it had been morning when he’d arrived, and now evening shadows stretched long across the plains.

He stretched, and drank a protein shake, washing down the lingering taste of processed chemicals with a swig of water. By the time he’d finished, the speeder was almost close enough for him to identify the driver. A Jedi, of course, but—

Qui-Gon blinked, then squinted, and then let himself reach out with the Force to confirm what he thought must be true. By the time Dooku landed the speeder, he was smiling, and Qui-Gon strode forward with his arms extended to hug his old master.

“It’s good to see you,” Dooku called, jumping out of the speeder. “I thought they owed me this, after five years.”

“Has it really been so long?” Qui-Gon asked, laughing, as Dooku embraced him. He wrapped his arms just as tightly around the man who was no longer his master, pressing his face against Dooku’s cheek. “I could’ve sworn it hadn’t been so long.”

“You’ve been busy,” Dooku said. He ruffled Qui-Gon’s hair. “Look at you! Have you been growing this out since you were knighted?”

Qui-Gon pulled back, reluctantly, and grinned. “I never liked it short.”

“It suits you.” Dooku squeezed his shoulders, voice and eyes still clearly admiring. “I’m glad you finally figured out how to wear a beard, too.” At that, Qui-Gon flushed. He’d been just starting to try and grow his beard when he’d been knighted, and Dooku had found it incredibly funny how patchy it had been. Now, he could grow a full beard, but he kept it trimmed short, in contrast to his hair.

Dooku, on the other hand, looked exactly as Qui-Gon remembered him: Dark brown hair tied back in a shoulder-length queue, neat beard, and eyes surrounded by crows-feet from sunlight and a wry sense of humour. Qui-Gon laid one of his hands over Dooku’s, and said, “The council didn’t tell me that you were the other Jedi on this mission.”

“I asked if it could be a surprise,” Dooku admitted. He glanced towards the spire-like rocks that peppered the field. “Also, I wanted to be sure you would focus on preparing for this mission, not on me.”

Qui-Gon ducked his head and let Dooku’s hands slide off his shoulders. He couldn’t deny that if he’d known he’d be seeing Dooku again, after five years apart, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his mind from wandering off the preparatory material, such as it was—Master Yoda had given him the datafile on the Lothal temple and vergence, and a single paragraph describing a dream-vision of Master Yaddle’s. The entirety of it, as best Qui-Gon had managed to decipher the symbols, was that the vergence on Lothal had a message for them.

None of it explained why he and his old master had been chosen to come here.

“I had hoped,” Qui-Gon said at last, following Dooku through the rock-studded plain. “I knew that this temple was traditionally visited by apprentices with their masters. Even if this trial hasn’t been used recently, it... was something I thought the Council would recall, and reference.”

“Correct.” Dooku paused, and glanced up at the largest spire, the sunken temple’s peak. “I came here as an apprentice. I was one of the last.”

“Is that why you were chosen?”

Dooku rested his hand on a smaller rock, turned carefully, and began taking measured steps forward. “I believe so. It is best to allow traditions to continue unbroken, should you wish the Force to speak as clearly as it is able.” He glanced back, eyes bright with a smile. “I asked for you, my dear Qui-Gon, because of all the Jedi I have mentored, you have always had the greatest gift for listening to the will of the Force.”

“Do I?” Qui-Gon asked, startled. “Master Yoda says—”

“Don’t take his words so seriously,” Dooku said, waving his hand irritably. “He and Master Windu both believe that they know what’s best, and Yoda in particular has been alive too long to feel like he should be questioned in his knowledge.”

 _Master Yoda says that listening to my instincts get me into trouble,_ Qui-Gon finished silently. He let Dooku finish taking his measured steps, and watched as he held out a single graceful hand, eyes slipping closed. Underneath the tall grasses, a sigil emerged, pushed (or pulled?) up from the ground so subtly that the only clear marker that Qui-Gon could see was its rim. Except—

Qui-Gon closed his own eyes, and let himself sink into meditation. As his breathing quieted and slowed, he felt—

“Good,” Dooku murmured, voice gentle and so close to his ears. “Do you see it now?”

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, keeping his heart steady, and he caught his breath. The grass pulsed gently with the living Force, but beneath the surface the ground shone. First, he saw the tiny sun of the temple’s vergence, and then, as he adjusted, he saw its power radiating out into concentric circles, intricate and alight with power, guided into old symbols he recalled studying—and now knew he had to study further, so that he might have any hope of understanding what the old masters had wrought. The sigil they stood before was one he had seen every day in Coruscant’s temple, however: An old symbol of the Order itself, meant to remind members of the guiding power of the Force.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said, and felt the pride and fondness he was so familiar with warm him through the Force. There was something different about it, though, as it pressed against his mental skin, something primal and deep. Qui-Gon licked his suddenly-dry lips, let his questions flow through his mind, as he’d been trained to let them do, and said, “We should open the temple.”

“Of course,” Dooku murmured, and the strange feeling eased. He stepped forward, and Qui-Gon took his place at Dooku’s side. Together, just as smoothly as they had all those years ago, they raised their hands and reached out for the sunken temple, the physical gesture an unnecessary but useful guide for the power of the Force. As one, they pulled on the temple, twisting it and listening to it ascend with their ears and their inner senses both, waiting until it locked into place.

“After you,” Dooku said, with a slight bow. 

Qui-Gon smiled at him, holding his concentration on the temple, and strode forward. Dooku followed a beat behind, feet quiet on the earth and mind solid and confident in the Force.

The temple’s entryway was simple carved stone, with smooth floors and worn-away reliefs. There was no dust that Qui-Gon could see, likely due to how well-sealed it was when not in use. There was also a... presence, that felt unlike anything Qui-Gon could recall interacting with before. “The vergence?” he murmured, knowing that Dooku was there, right next to him, and would understand. 

“Yes.”

Qui-Gon could feel the hesitation that followed in the Force, uncertainty echoing louder than their footsteps ever could. At last, Dooku added, “It will speak to you, when you venture in. That’s what the Trial was always meant to be for: Bringing you close enough to the Force to face it and walk through the other side.”

“Yoda seemed to think a series of near-death experiences was conclusive enough.”

“Yoda also wouldn’t have agreed to this if he didn’t care about the Trials.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head, conceding the point.

In front of them, the stone hall opened into a room that Qui-Gon knew must be perfectly circular. Here, the floor wasn’t simply smooth stone, but a mosaic: Plants growing, living, dying, and becoming that which allowed the next generation to thrive. He didn’t know how sunlight made its way this deep into the temple, but nevertheless that seemed to be what lit the room.

“This is where I wait,” Dooku said. He strode ahead of Qui-Gon, until he stood at the exact center of the mosaic: A stylized pyrite-studded sun, radiant with amber, tourmaline, and heliodor. Clear light shone from above, highlighting every line of Dooku’s body. He looked beautiful, and Qui-Gon tried to direct his attention to Dooku’s words instead of the elegance of his body. “Just as my master did for me, and perhaps so shall you do for your apprentice. The line of the Force is old, and still unbroken, here.” He knelt, smooth and formal, and gave Qui-Gon a warm smile. “Do not worry. What lies beyond the door cannot harm your body—it can only see into your soul.”

Qui-Gon scowled briefly at Dooku’s clear enjoyment of his dramatic pronouncement. “Do you have any _helpful_ advice which you are allowed to give?”

Dooku looked over at the door, and Qui-Gon could see his body tense. “Believe in yourself,” he said, so quietly Qui-Gon almost didn’t hear him, even close as they were. “Trust the Force, but know that it is here to challenge you. Face your fears with dignity, and ask it to help you see the truth. And—” Dooku swallowed, visibly. “Know that I have every faith in you, my dear.”

Qui-Gon bowed, formally, as he had once done more days than not and now almost never had reason to. It was the correct response, but it also allowed him time to recover from the way his voice was caught in his throat from emotion that the Code seemed desperate to suppress and which Dooku so often found a way to bring to the surface anyway. Qui-Gon took three steps forward, until he stood right in front of his master, and managed to say, “I will make you proud,” as he gently squeezed Dooku’s shoulder with inarticulate thanks.

“You already do.” Dooku smiled again, eyes clear and shining in the impossible light. “Now, go. I will meditate here until your return.”

“The Force will be with us,” Qui-Gon said.

As he walked through the dark opening Dooku called a door, he heard his master laugh in reply.

*

There was a slight grade to the corridor. Qui-Gon could tell that this path went up, ever so slightly, as it curved. He kept one hand on the near wall, and let his feet slide slowly across the floor, trusting that when the temple’s vergence was ready, he would be shown—

Well, he’d be shown _something_ , but this wasn’t how the Trials usually went, and he wasn’t exactly here for one anyway. The Force was difficult to predict at the best of times, and this was unusual circumstances, even for the Force. The only thing he knew was that there was something important to learn, and that could mean any number of things.

So he kept himself quiet, and he breathed, and he focused on his own body and the Force around him, thick and heavy as it pressed in on him, the weight growing greater and greater until he stumbled, knees striking the floor, and saw—

_A boy in the sand, hair suns-kissed gold, collar weighing heavy around his neck. Qui-Gon met his eyes—blue, the same startling clear blue as the sky—and found himself frozen with the weight of emotion there. The boy’s love shone through him, blazing with the twin suns’ power. But there, too, was a swirl of pain anchored in his shoulders, a dark pupil slowly dilating in the midst of endless blue irises. As Qui-Gon watched, fire burst into stark reflection in those eyes, turning everything burning gold, and then—_

There was nothing but old stones in front of him in the now dimly-lit hall. He could see, now, the labyrinth continuing to coil slowly upwards. Qui-Gon sat up, surprised to find himself fully upon the ground. Had the force of the boy’s gaze really been so strong?

 _No,_ he corrected himself, _not the force of the boy’s gaze—the_ Force _of it._ Even within this vergence, he had felt the Force shining out of the boy. He held within himself greater power than any Jedi Qui-Gon could think of; even Master Yoda’s presence didn’t hold him spellbound in the same way, and Master Yoda was the most powerful Jedi in the Order, according to the records.

But this— Master Yaddle’s dreams had only spoken of something important in the Force. This vision, he thought, must be what the Council had sent him for. If the Chosen One—and what else could this child be?—was to be found soon, then the Order must know, and must begin searching for him. Qui-Gon breathed deeply, and found that now the air seemed dry, instead of almost humid with the Force.

He stood, and murmured his thanks to the Force. Then he breathed in, cleared his mind, and continued to walk. The only way out of a labyrinth was through the labyrinth. Even if the first thing he saw was what he had originally been sent here for, it would not be proper to leave before the Force had shown him all it had to offer.

For a moment, Qui-Gon could have sworn he heard laughter, a ghost of another Force vision, but as soon as he focused on it, the sound disappeared, leaving Qui-Gon somehow feeling lonelier than before.

He squared his shoulders, grateful for what light there now was, and kept walking.

*

This area of the labyrinth was covered in mist. It had come on suddenly, so that Qui-Gon couldn’t even see the wall to guide himself. He kept walking anyway, arms extended, feeling nothing but the wisps of Force-created condensation. It tangled into his robes, twisting around him, caressing him, until Qui-Gon felt claustrophobic, trapped, and he saw—

_His master, kneeling in darkness, a red lightsaber held at his throat. Yoda’s face, old and lined in sorrow as the shadows of soldiers marched behind him. Coruscant, rotting from within, until it fell apart into darkness scattering across the galaxy, A laugh, echoing above it all, familiar and dreadful and threatening._

Qui-Gon retched, convulsing against the darkness, expelling it with all he had. Nothing came out of his mouth, but as he straightened, the only vision lingering in the mists was the red-lit image of Dooku’s face, older and white-haired, eyes open and blank in mortal fear. Qui-Gon pressed his forehead against the smooth stone walls now visible to him, willing his heart to stop racing. He had been taught that the temples and their vergences did not show truth as it _must_ be, but only as it _could_ be. This did not need to become the future. It was simply the Force grabbing him and saying _Pay attention, this is important_.

“I’m listening,” Qui-Gon said aloud, daring the Force to care that he spoke into its great silence. “I hear your warning. I will do my best to learn from it.”

Carefully, he pushed himself upright. His stomach hurt from trying to throw up the Force-mists, a deep and pulsing pain that stabbed through his gut with each beat of his heart. Qui-Gon breathed through it, staring up at the noon-bright light leading him on, willing it to disperse the vision’s pain.

He lost track of how long he stood, leaning against the wall, before the stabbing pain relented enough for him to walk, stumbling closer to the top of the temple. It must be close. The light had only been increasing as he’d come closer and closer to the center—even as it disappeared each time the Force wished him to see something, whether a wisp of possibility or the full-fledged visions that still echoed through his mind.

With each step, the pain lessened, and Qui-Gon kept walking, not trusting the light to remain.

*

The hall suddenly started coiling down, faster than it had ever gone up, and Qui-Gon’s feet sped up with it. Three sharp turns in quick succession and he was almost tripping over his own feet, catching himself each time on the wall as it presented itself to him.

He couldn’t keep his focus on meditation, now, not with hunger and thirst and uncertain footing. No matter how he tried, he was always catching himself on the walls just before he fell from the slope alone, and then his boot came down on rolling pebbles, the first truly unstable patch that the temple had given him, and Qui-Gon had just enough time to think _What kind of test is this?_ before he fell straight into Dooku’s arms.

 _Oh_ , Qui-Gon thought, dizzy. _This kind of test._

“My dear,” Dooku said, amused. “Do try and keep yourself steady. I won’t always be here to catch you.”

“Sorry, master,” Qui-Gon said, automatically. He found his balance again—the ground here was flat and stable—but Dooku didn’t release his shoulders. “I’ll do better next time.”

“You’re doing so well even now,” the Force’s idea of Dooku said, running one hand along Qui-Gon’s arm, down to his hand, and slowly, gently, lacing their fingers together. “Though, if you wanted—” He looked up, face bright, eyes gleaming. “We could stay together. Then we would always be able to keep each other from falling.”

Qui-Gon stared at him, absurdly distracted by the feeling of Dooku’s thumb stroking his. “The Council would never allow it,” he said, distantly, repeating doctrine as the only steady rock he knew.

“The Council doesn’t need to rule us.” Dooku leaned closer. “The Council might not even need to know, if we’re careful.”

“How would we be together?” Qui-Gon reached out, unable to help himself, setting his free hand on Dooku’s shoulder, thumb on Dooku’s neck. “The Council sets our missions.”

“Oh, my dear.” Dooku laughed. “Not together like _that_.”

 _Oh._ The dizziness was back, but now the only real thing in the room was Dooku’s body, solid and warm and right next to him, lips just barely parted and so close to his own mouth. Qui-Gon couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. He couldn’t keep his body from flushing warm at Dooku’s touch, at his hand now at the nape of Qui-Gon’s neck, slowly drawing him closer.

“We shouldn’t,” Qui-Gon started to say.

Dooku raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Trust your feelings, Qui-Gon. What does the Force say?”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, clamped down on the thrumming _yes_ of his body, the hammering pulse of his heart, and called out to the vergence, mental voice a tumultuous shout against its inevitable calm: _Is_ this _what you wanted of me?_

He felt—

 _Warm hands on his skin, a voice murmuring in his ear, pleasure flooding his body until there was nothing left but the Force, full and vibrant and flush with_ life _in a way that Qui-Gon had never before felt it._

“Oh,” Qui-Gon said, his eyes opening to Dooku’s face.

He didn’t even need to think, now; he just leaned forward, pulled their bodies tightly together, and kissed the man he’d always loved.

The Force embraced him, and then, after three heartbeats, faded from around him, leaving Qui-Gon standing in the middle of a flat hallway, body awake in a way that felt unfamiliar, but better than anything else he’d ever known.

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said to the Force, and set off down the now-traversable hall.

There was a conversation he’d need to have, when he returned. He didn’t think the Force was lying about any of that vision—including the way Dooku had looked at him, which he’d never known before how to see.

*

Qui-Gon stumbled through the final door, back into the center of the temple. His knees gave out before he could see what this room held, but as he pushed himself up he heard Dooku’s voice.

“Are you alright?”

 _Another vision?_ Qui-Gon wondered, before he felt Dooku’s hands on him, and looked up to see a concerned face. Without thinking, he reached out to touch Dooku’s cheek, to be certain that this time what he saw was real.

“Qui-Gon?” Dooku asked again.

“It’s me. I’m here.” As he spoke, Qui-Gon realised his voice was hoarse. “How long?”

Dooku settled onto the floor, and pulled Qui-Gon up to lean against him. “A day.”

Qui-Gon let his head rest on Dooku’s shoulder. Let himself be held. Let that familiar-unfamiliar fondness beat against him in time with Dooku’s heart. “I saw many things. Only two held the Force’s full power. The rest were...” He shuddered, and Dooku rubbed his back soothingly. “Specters. Ghosts. Fears I’d thought banished.”

“Fear is never banished. It is merely contained, or the situation changes so that it is controlled.”

“Do you want to know what it asked me to acknowledge about you?” Qui-Gon asked, eyes closed, paying more attention to Dooku’s hand and breath than his own racing heart.

Dooku’s hand stilled at the small of his back. “Should you wish to share it.”

“The version of you the Force showed me was one who offered me physical affection, just as you do now, but—” Qui-Gon swallowed, or tried to; his mouth was dry. “You— That version of you offered me, as well, a kiss.”

“Did you accept it?” Dooku asked. His voice sounded rough, too, and Qui-Gon tried not to hope too much.

“Yes.” Qui-Gon straightened himself, and forced his eyes open so that he could look at Dooku properly. “I kissed the Force’s projection of you. And when I did, it felt... right. The Force did not seem offended. Nor,” he added, watching the way Dooku’s eyes dilated, “did you.”

“What you are suggesting goes against the Jedi Code,” Dooku said. His hand still rested on Qui-Gon’s hip, and he seemed unaware of how tightly he was holding on through the layered Jedi robe.

Qui-Gon managed to raise his eyebrows and force a smile, feeling the knot in his chest loosen. “Unless you’ve changed in the years since I was knighted, you challenge the Code at least once a month. Almost every day, if you’re forced to stay in the Coruscant Temple.”

“You are not incorrect.” Dooku reached forward, and Qui-Gon pressed his face into the warmth of Dooku’s hand. “Are you certain?”

“I am.” Qui-Gon kept his eyes and voice steady by sheer force of will. “I suspect the Council knew how close we had become, and kept us apart to prevent this possibility.”

“They will continue to do so. Especially if we—” Dooku swallowed, the first honest sign of nervousness Qui-Gon had seen in him “—consummate this desire. For a group that asks for a lack of attachment, they’re startlingly good at spotting it when it appears.”

“I know.” Qui-Gon gripped Dooku’s hand, and slowly, deliberately, raised it to his mouth to kiss Dooku’s knuckles. The Force rippled between them, swelling with emotion at the touch of Qui-Gon’s lips, and even though he’d been expecting it, Qui-Gon heard his voice waver as he continued speaking. “You’ve always told me to listen to the Force. And here, where we were sent to open ourselves to it, the Force did not simply offer me a vision of you, but gave me the experience of joyous pleasure when I chose to take what was offered.” He looked straight into Dooku’s eyes, and opened his heart to the Force, willing Dooku to feel everything that beat within him. “I will not walk away from this.”

“Then so be it.”

Dooku drew him close and kissed his forehead. Qui-Gon laughed, tilted his head up, and pulled Dooku in to kiss his mouth. It felt nothing like kissing the Force’s projection—Dooku’s mouth, in truth, was warm, his beard scratchy, and he clutched at Qui-Gon like a life-line, startling and important and altogether new.

The kiss was not long. When he drew back, Dooku’s cheeks were flushed, bright on his pale skin, and his eyes were wide. “We should, perhaps, practice more,” he said, and Qui-Gon could feel how much effort it took for him to keep his voice steady when his heart was beating so fast. “I believe we can improve upon that attempt.”

Qui-Gon laughed. “Gladly.” He paused, and then added, ruefully, as his body reminded him that it had other needs, “But first I think I need water and sleep, in that order.”

“Of course, my dear.” Dooku had said the words a hundred times or more, but this time— This time, Qui-Gon felt his own heart beat faster, and his chest warmed and pleasure seeped out into his limbs. This time, all the affection in the words _my dear_ was allowed to exist, without the constraints of the apprentice bond. Dooku pressed another kiss to his cheek, and that, too, was brilliant on his skin. “Can you stand?”

“You may need to help me up,” Qui-Gon admitted, but he didn’t mind that, or leaning on his— He didn’t know what to call Dooku yet, but supposed _lover_ would do, for now.

The water was stale, and warm, and tasted like life, and Qui-Gon collapsed onto the speeder’s seat, head pillowed on Dooku’s lap, and drifted off to the feeling of his lover’s hands in his hair.

*

When Qui-Gon woke up, Dooku was driving slowly across the fields. As Qui-Gon sat up, Dooku said, “We could have been back by now, but I wanted some time to talk beyond prying eyes and ears.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said. He drank some more water, and looked at the sunset-pink grass. “This is not going to be easy.”

“Of course not.” Dooku reached over and gripped Qui-Gon’s hand. “But nothing about the life of a Jedi is easy.”

Qui-Gon laughed, for a moment bright, and then sobered as he realised that he had told Dooku nothing else of what he’d seen. “The Force showed me the potential of your death at the hands of the Sith,” he said quietly. Dooku’s hand tensed on his. “Coruscant rotted from within, and you died to a red lightsaber, in fear and shock.”

“My dear,” Dooku started.

“But I also saw what must be the Chosen One,” Qui-Gon said. He closed his eyes and leaned against Dooku, letting his head rest on the other man’s shoulder. “A young boy in the sands, blazing with power but also somehow chained. I think I will meet him someday. I hope that he can prevent your death from the Sith.”

Dooku kissed the crown of his head and said nothing for a time. Qui-Gon let himself drift off again, content to feel Dooku’s body slowly rise and fall with his breath, and to listen to the quiet hum of the speeder, until Dooku said, “There haven’t been Sith for generations.”

“I know.”

“The Force doesn’t lie, in visions like that.”

“I _know_.”

“They won’t believe us.”

Qui-Gon winced, and finally sat up to look at Dooku. “I’ve been trying not to think about that.”

“It’s been too long since something has shaken the Order to the roots.” Dooku’s hands tightened on the speeder’s controls, and looked out to the horizon. “I don’t think the Sith’s return is altogether the worst thing, though...”

“If it rots the Republic from within, it will cause chaos.”

Dooku snorted. “You’ve been in the Outer Rim more than I have, these last years. Is it truly so bad, outside the Republic’s reach?”

“No,” Qui-Gon admitted, staring down at his hands. He couldn’t bear to face Dooku’s eyes, or the too-beautiful sunset streaking the sky with rose, peach, and plum. “They have other systems. Flawed, but—”

“The Republic, too, is flawed.”

“I know.”

“Still,” Dooku said, voice quiet. “We do our best to protect its people, and give them the life and freedom they deserve.”

“To live,” Qui-Gon murmured, as he looked up once more to meet his lover’s eyes, “and to love.”


End file.
